Cavall's Heart: Acquiescence
by Quatre-sama
Summary: This is a story of how Lord Wyldon came to accept Owen of Jesslaw as his son-in-law. And how much he resisted it all the while! Part of the "Cavall's Heart" series.


Title: Cavall's Heart: Acquiescence  
Fandom: Tamora Pierce – Protector of the Small  
Completed: April 2009  
Summary: This is a story of how Lord Wyldon came to accept Owen of Jesslaw as his son-in-law.

Author's Note: the premise for this fic was given by "Boosette" on the Goldenlake forum, where she presented seven emoticons (and descriptions of them) as Wyldon's seven stages of accepting Owen. The initial section titles are her description – the parentheses are my titles for the segments. If you go to Goldenlake, you will see the original emoticons, as well.

**Cavall's Heart: Acquiescence**

**I. WTF (Flabbergasted)**

"I want _him_."

Margarry's voice reverberated in his head hours into the night when everyone else was asleep. He walked the corridors of Cavall's manor house, his steps quieted by the thick slippers his wife had given him as an early Midwinter gift.

The chit was serious.

Of all the eligible men she'd met - at court, while visiting her sister in Persopolis - of all the men in the entire Eastern Lands, she wanted Owen of Jesslaw as her husband.

Wyldon firmly believed young girls didn't know how to pick an ideal mate. Vivenne had not chosen him, after all - instead she had relied on her father's guidance, and had ended up in a happy, successful and loving marriage. Wyldon's own eldest daughters had their pick from several sufficient men he had approved - no, _selected_ - for them. And they had chosen suitable husbands. But Margarry….

He shouldn't be so surprised. As his youngest - the baby they had almost lost - she had been given too much leniency. Not by Vivenne, of course. She was far too sensible to let the girl run wild. But he had failed; he had been lax with discipline. He had not properly addressed her unruly behavior when she had studied in the city of the Gods. He had not chastised her when she'd teased and flirted with his squire. And he had allowed his squire far too much free time to develop an attachment.

But he and Owen hadn't been at Cavall in over a year. Longer, even. They had not set foot in one acre of Cavall land since the spring after he'd taken Owen as a squire.

When had this romance grown? They'd had a childish attachment upon first meeting - Cavall was suddenly full of more blushing and stammering than it had ever known. He recalled finding them mid-embrace at one point. But somehow, over months and months of letter-writing, the skittish and playful girl who enjoyed trapping an awkward boy with laughter and teasing had grown into a profound young woman who so passionately declared that she wanted no other husband than Owen.

For the fourth time in his life, Wyldon wondered if he ever knew _any_ of his daughters.

**II. DO NOT WANT (Repudiated)**

It wasn't that Owen was a _bad _choice, Wyldon thought the next day over breakfast. The boy had at least been broken to bridle, after three years with a stern knight master. But he was a loose cannon, if not properly guided.

He had once tried to chase down a retreating army. _On his own._

Even worse, he'd started arguments with Vivenne before.

He needed a strong arm to latch on to him and hold him in place. But Margarry - even this newer, calmer, more intense variation - was more likely to incite him than manage him.

Wyldon studied his squire closely as they ate, ignoring the chatter. He showed no nervousness - he did not know of Margarry's declaration, Wyldon was sure. The boy was terrible at hiding his feelings from strangers. He was incapable of hiding them from Wyldon entirely. Right now he was relaxed, enjoying the company of family.

Family? Wyldon asked himself sharply. No - the Jesslaw boy was _not_ family. He was a hellion - albeit a well-trained one - who would go home to Jesslaw after his Ordeal. They would see each other at court functions, if they could not avoid it, and on the battle field if the realm felt it necessary.

Wyldon knew better than that, though. Owen reminded him of a hound he had once rescued when he had been a young squire - full of energy and spirit and potential. And loyalty. Owen did not let go of people he cared for, and everyone at Cavall had earned his affection. Just this summer Wyldon had seen his squire distraught over his own disobedience.

The boy was determined. Perhaps this combination of his single-mindedness and his ability to throw caution to the wind, risking everything for his ideas of right and wrong, were exactly what attracted Wyldon's occasionally-reckless daughter.

He looked at his girl and sighed. She was happy. Ridiculously, deliriously happy to be sharing stories with Owen of Jesslaw over breakfast.

She loved him.

He had a feeling he was going to regret this.

**III. Crap. (Ensnared)**

Once Owen's Ordeal of Knighthood was over, and Wyldon had given him permission - encouragement, even, in one of his weaker moments - to propose, the two had wasted no time in arranging things. Owen had left the chamber and slept for several hours, only to find her mopping his brow when he awoke. He'd proposed and she'd accepted before Wyldon could comment on his former squire being awake.

At the last Midwinter ball, their engagement was announced. It was a barbaric custom, Wyldon thought, announcing the engagement of a young couple. The parents stood by, smiling proudly because they knew their children could do no better - but deep down, Wyldon could only focus on the fact that they were mere children.

He'd made them promise to stay engaged for at least two years. It might be a time of war, when all young lovers wanted to make their vows, but he'd be cursed if he was going to let his daughter run off with a knight greener than the Goldenlake colors.

The room was full of people he would rather not see. The Jesslaw clan, fawning over him for not only taking their favored younger son as a squire - but for also giving them such a delightful daughter-in-law. And of course, the friends who had managed to wheedle furloughs from their immediate officers (for he did not recall relieving anyone of their duties!) in order to support their friend during his Ordeal. He wasn't surprised or disappointed to see Mindelan. He couldn't say the same for Nealan of Queenscove.

"You don't seem to be celebrating, my lord," Mindelan said softly.

"I celebrate quietly," Wyldon answered, his eyes never leaving his daughter's lithe form across the ballroom. "Jesslaw will take good care of my girl - and he'll have to meet me on the courts if he doesn't."

Keladry's lips turned up slightly. "I'm guessing you haven't mentioned this plan to Owen, seeing as how he's not quaking in his shoes. You're the only person he's afraid of, after all."

Wyldon smiled, glad for small favors. He looked down, slightly, into the lady knight's eyes. "When you have your own children, Keladry, you will know real fear. I've spent her whole life worrying about her safety, and now I have to entrust her in the care of an untested man who's even younger than she is."

"Owen has a good heart," Keladry answered. "And he will be as loyal to her as he is to you or me."

Wyldon nodded. "However, that doesn't change the fact that I'm losing my youngest daughter."

"That's a dour way to look at it," Queenscove said jovially as he approached. "Instead of losing a daughter, think of it as gaining a son!"

This was not a comfort to Wyldon.

**IV. Huh. (Bewildered)**

The wedding was held at Cavall, two years and three months after their engagement had begun. Families of knights and lords from across the realm came to stay for a week, enjoying all the pre-wedding dinners and parties that Wyldon was loathe to attend.

He spent most of his time in the kennels, if he could get away with it. Vivenne was a superb hostess; she could manage without him. But the one day he had to be present from dawn until dusk was the day he officially gave his daughter's hand in marriage. It was a beautiful ceremony, with the young couple positively glowing in delight as they recited their vows before a Mithran priest. And Wyldon remained busy enough throughout the day to ignore the comments from Queenscove that seemed to have Owen's friends reeling with laughter throughout the reception – no doubt at his own expense, but he had trained enough young men to know not to be irked.

Part of Wyldon remained perplexed about the entire scenario. It wasn't a matter of not liking Owen. Of all the knights he commanded, Sir Owen was certainly not the worst. He followed orders even better than Mindelan sometimes. Over ten years of training, Wyldon had put the fear of the gods in the boy - or, he was realizing - young man.

He still, for the life of him, could not find that special element that his daughter saw in the knight. He wasn't charming - Owen was brutally honest, as a rule. He was attractive enough, Wyldon supposed, but his often wrinkled clothes and habitually messy hair could not have induced swooning. Nor could the fact that he looked quite a bit younger than his actual age.

No, in Wyldon's experience, women tended to fall in love with someone dashing and dangerous, or someone similar to her father.

Was Owen like Wyldon?

No, certainly not.

He paused in his reflections, watching his daughter stand with her husband, thanking the wedding guests for their attendance. Her brown eyes were alight with happiness each time she glanced up at Owen. And his expression matched hers for tenderness and affection.

No, he was certainly not dashing or dangerous.

But that didn't mean he was like Wyldon.

No, certainly not.

**V. **_**Fine. **_**But I Won't Like It. **_**Much. **_**(Unexcited)**

"I want her to stay here," Vivenne insisted that evening, as they were climbing into bed.

"They're adults - they're married now," Wyldon replied, rubbing his temples. "They should be establishing their own home at Jesslaw or in Corus."

"And how can they do that in the aftermath of war?" his wife asked tartly. "Owen is sent to the Scanran border every other month. Why not just ask them to live here? Margarry won't be as lonely."

"Would you like me to change his assignments?"

"Absolutely not!" Vivenne exclaimed. "That would affect his earnings. He's not the Jesslaw heir, after all - a knight's purse is crucial for them."

"Even considering the substantial dowry?" Wyldon asked dryly, thankful - for the first time - that all four of his daughters were grown.

"Besides," Vivenne went on, ignoring him, "Margarry would never forgive such a blatant act of favoritism and nepotism if you were to send him out of harm's way."

Wyldon knew his wife was adamant, and he knew which arguments he had no chance of winning.

"Fine," Wyldon sighed. "Let them live here first. I will be at Mastiff again in a fortnight, so it hardly matters to me."

Vivenne glared at him (no doubt the word "curmudgeon" flashing through her mind), then blew out the candle.

He nestled beside her, listening to the gradual slowing of her breaths. Having Margarry at home with her mother wouldn't be a bad idea. They could keep each other company. Besides - Owen had taken strongly to horse and dog breeding. Most of the hounds in the kennels were getting rather attached to him.

It would probably be better for Cavall to have him around. For the dogs' sake, at least.

Though he would never admit it, Wyldon slept better that night than he had in a very long time.

**VI. Okay, Maybe Just a Little (Encompassed)**

A border skirmish left Wyldon considerably wounded one year after his daughter's wedding, and after a lifetime of magical healing, his stubborn body refused to knit back together as easily once had. A brief discussion with the king ended with him returning to Cavall for extensive recuperation.

Within one week he became antsy, with the women coddling him. He was actually relieved when Owen returned from his own latest mission, bringing news from Tyra.

"Will you do me a favor?" Wyldon asked his son-in-law, while they sat together in the small sick-room off of the kitchen.

"Of course, sir."

"In my office there's a brown leather book. It has a symbol that looks like a key embossed in the leather and is spelled so it can't be opened. Bring it here."

Owen retrieved it and held it out to Wyldon, who took it in his good hand. He whispered the enchantment and it fell open to a half-filled page.

"Sir, those look like battle plans," Owen said bluntly, forgetting that it could be considered rude to gawp at a book that was spelled for secrecy.

"Indeed. The king gave me a task – to prepare Tortall for any conceivable invasion. I'm to draw the attacks I can fathom and detail what defensive measures to take. But with the broken collar bone and hand – not to mention a dozen arm and hand lacerations that could re-open – I find it difficult to write. Can you help?"

"Yes sir," Owen breathed. "Are you taking on this assignment by yourself?"

"No. All retired Tortallan military leaders are asked to do this for the realm. This book once belonged to Emry of Haryse, and I'm to pick up where he left off."

"Retired?" Owen repeated, his grey eyes narrowing.

Wyldon sighed. "Yes – but now I must also trust you not to mention it to Vivenne or Margarry until I'm ready to speak of it. My wife will not be happy, so it's my job to twist things around so she thinks it was _her _idea."

Owen nodded his agreement, and Wyldon believed him. While the boy had never hidden anything from Margarry that Wyldon knew of, he had also never betrayed a confidence of Wyldon's.

"And if anything should happen – don't look so troubled, Jesslaw; you know that infections have killed as many soldiers as arrows – but if anything happens, you must promise to take this book to the king and never let anyone know about it. Even our wives. Do you agree, or must I bring a mage to erase your memory?"

"I'll do it." Owen said, eyes blazing with determination. He, like Wyldon, understood that protecting his family began with protecting Tortall – and that was what they, as knights, were entrusted with.

**VII. You Win, Joining in :D Now (Acknowledged)**

Even with his work as a military consultant, Wyldon had far too much time on his hands. It was a relief when he was given another grandchild – Margarry's, this time. His other daughters had children, of course, but their lives were elsewhere. This young child – a boy called Ansis – was the light of his entire family's eyes. Especially Wyldon's.

"I confess that I'm surprised to see that you're so good with a boy," Owen admitted one night, after Margarry had carried the half-asleep toddler to his bed.

"I spent fifteen years training ten-year-old boys," Wyldon answered dryly.

"Well, yes – of course. But that's not the same as teaching them their letters or singing songs."

Wyldon studied his son-in-law carefully. "Did Margarry never tell you that Vivenne and I once had a son?" He continued at the shake of Owen's curly head. "He died of a fever when he was three – shortly before Margarry was born."

Owen's eyes were wide, his expression horrified. "I-I can't imagine."

"And I hope you will never experience it," Wyldon replied heavily. "It taught me to cherish my girls all the more, but left Cavall without an heir. This land can be inherited only by a male, after all. I actually wanted to speak to you about that."

Comprehension dawned on Owen's youthful face. "You would like to make Ansis you heir?" he asked. The boy was Wyldon's favored grandson, after all, though not the eldest.

An amused smile played across Wyldon's face. "I would love to have him inherit, someday – but actually I was thinking of _you_."

Owen looked baffled and stammered incoherently before squeaking out: "But why me?"

"I have three sons-in-law," Wyldon began, "but you are the only one who knows Cavall well. You love the kennels and the stables as much as Vivenne or I do. You would beggar yourself to keep the horses well-fed. You help me resolve disputes in the village and – perhaps more importantly – have the knack of leaving every quarrel with both parties feeling like they got the better of the negotiation.

"You're a second son," he continued, "like I was when King Roald gave me this land. You left your home and came to love these woodlands as I do. You've rid the area of bandits with the force of your sword and the power of your economic suggestions. And you've become the kind of person I'd always hoped my own son would grow to be. Will you agree to be my legal heir?"

Owen's eyes were wet with unshed tears when he answered with a choked "yes."

"Oh, for the love of Mithros, Jesslaw – stop sniveling!" he snapped impatiently.

On the inside, though, Wyldon was beaming.


End file.
